


Why Can't We Be Friends?

by cynosure_phrases



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feelings Realization, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Holding Hands, Idiots in Love, Inappropriate Erections, Inappropriate Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, One Shot, POV Simon Snow, Porn With Plot, Pre-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Spell Failure, The Author Regrets Everything, Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynosure_phrases/pseuds/cynosure_phrases
Summary: I nearly visibly laugh. Relationship.Like we have anything applicable.-A spell that Simon thought shouldn't work does, and now he and Baz are stuck together until the truth comes out. But what truth is it?





	Why Can't We Be Friends?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WarriorBeeoftheSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorBeeoftheSea/gifts).



> hi hello yes--so. this fic started out as just a quick oneshot i was gonna do to cheer bee (soultoast) up, but. 11.4k later. here we are. with significantly more smut than i'd originally planned, but i figured hey. what would bee want? (the answer was this, apparently.)  
> thank you to my betas goodbyedandelion and kirito-potter (both on tumblr!)

"If I had both hands, I'd strangle you," he snarls, glaring down at me.

I throw aside papers, emptying my desk in a panic as notes fly everywhere. "I swear there's a counter-spell," I grumble, dropping to my knees.

He pulls down with me, nearly stumbling to a fall before he sits angrily.

It's all my fault.

I look at our joined hands--like superglue or liquid cement, they're sealed tightly together. Hand in hand. Holding close, refusing to let go (no matter how hard we try).

I should've never tried the spell. I should've never tried to use my  _ wand _ . I should've never even thought to start going to a  _ magicks school _ because I'm  _ shit _ at magic and--

My thoughts come to a screeching halt when I hear Baz's mutterings beside me. I glance, and see him with a wand drawn, quickly trying out various spells to get us unstuck.

It seemed like a harmless spell--a  _ joke _ spell. The worksheet said it usually doesn't do shit because…

Nope. Don't like the thought of why it probably works. (I do not secretly care about Baz, nor will I ever. I  _ shouldn't _ care about Baz.)

(And he sure doesn't care about me.)

"' _ Why can't we be friends? _ ' What kind of idiotic spell is that?" Baz hisses, breath low into a voice he only uses to call me dumb. Which, in all fairness, he sort of is rightfully doing now.

"Well," I start, voice pitching as I pick up papers in my free hand, scan them, then push them aside. "One that I'd really thought would be right useless when I'd said it, but as we can  _ both _ can see, I was a bit wrong."

He simply huffs in frustration, then turns away from me, facing the window.

The shades are down, but I can still tell it's nearly sundown, and Baz seems antsy.

"Can you find the paper  _ faster? _ " He snaps.

As he says so, I'm scanning something familiar that must make me so excited that he jolts to look aside. At the top of the page, it reads a blessing's worth of information.

_ Mastering Uncommon Spells Year 7 • Chapter 6 Unit 4 _

Further down the page, we see the very words.

**_Why can't we be friends?_** _Powerful incantation. Only works when both the caster and the receiver wish for more from their relationship. Spell can only be broken by a resolution._

I nearly visibly laugh.  _ Relationship _ .

Like we have anything applicable.

When I look at him, his brows are narrowed into his eyes and he's staring at the paper in steady concentration. He's clearly already read and reread the snippet, but he's still attached to the page. Unmoving. A little  _ too _ focused.

"I think we should take our relationship to the next level," I mock, not expecting the full scowl he gives me in return. Was hoping for a laugh, but guess it's too late for that.

"I'm going to saw off my hand," he snarls, looking down at our pressed palms. "That's it. That's the only answer."

"Well, maybe besides Penny helping us--."

"There's no countercurse," he looks over the paper. "Uncommon spells typically don't have a back out option because their countercurses are long forgotten, and practically useless even if it  _ does _ exist."

I must be making a face, because he glares at me and closes his eyes in defeat.

"That means," he adds slowly. "We're stuck like this until  _ whatever _ needs to be addressed is addressed. Or until the spell wears off."

"Well… what's mutual between us, then?"

"Hatred."

We stare at one another, his face blank and mine twisted into my usual scrunched anger before we both try to tug our hands away. Nothing budges.

"This fucking sucks," I mumble, without much else to say because this does, in fact, suck. It's all my fault, I have no way out, and worst of all, it's now a showdown of the shittiest fucking kind.

A showdown of emotions. Something neither of us have ever addressed to one another, so long as we can help it. Really, as far as I know, Baz has two moods: unamused, and pissed off.

And now, he's looking at our hands with what I can only conclude is his blatant annoyance. I don't know what to do with it. I don't know what to do with any of this.

"Do… we talk now?"

"Unless you want to hold hands for the rest of our lives," he says bitterly, lip turning up in a snide twist as his eyes stay down. His nails are trimmed and well kept while mine are bitten with a bit of dirt caked into them. "And I don't particularly want to do whatever you do in your free time, which is, I assume, either skip through fields with Bunce in one arm and Wellbelove in the other, or accidentally smoke an entire town of normals the moment you get snippy."

"It isn't like I want to spend time with you either," I grunt, turning away. I can feel my cheeks flushing, and I figure it's the embarrassment of it all. This whole stuck to him… thing. How do we bathe? Change? Present ourselves in public?

I can hear him shift, then feel my hand tug. If this doesn't get fixed tonight, I'm in for shit tomorrow.

"Well? Fess up, Snow."

"What do you want me to say?" I lift my free hand up, gesturing around. "What  _ is _ there to say?"

He looks stone cold, glaring right through me as his jaw clenches. I worry briefly, then remember the Anathema.

I sigh, closing my eyes and thinking. Which is a bit of a new thing for me to really try out.

"I, uh," I say, quietly into the space. My hand settles on my shirt, tugging a loose thread on a button as I swear I can feel Baz's eyes holding heavy over me. This one has to work. "I don't… like us fighting? I don't want it that way. Never have."

I peek open one eye and look at our hands before looking at him.

"You've got to say something too," I remind. "It's got to be both of us."

He shifts, and for the slightest of moments, I think he's planning on spitting in my face and calling me pathetic. Like he usually does. Instead, he comes off as startlingly human. "I don't like fighting either," he says quickly, as if it hurt him to say, before immediately trying to tug his hand away.

Not so shockingly, it doesn't budge.

"You have to say something you mean." He turns back to me, glaring as I speak. "Or else it won't take."

"You  _ really _ think I  _ like _ fighting incessantly? I have better things to do than to quarrel with someone whose idea of fun is swinging a hunk of metal around."

"Well, the spell sure thinks you do."

He stops, jaw hanging slightly as his brows furrow deeper. Then, in a split second, he straightens up and tugs me along. "Fine then," he snaps. "We'll just have to figure this out over time."

"Over time?!" I must look bewildered, because he's got that "We-know-I'm-smarter-than-you-so-just-listen" face.

"Yes," he says slowly. Like I'm a child. "Because, apparently, we have  _ shit _ ," he glares down at our hands pointedly before looking back up, "to work out."

I hesitate, trying desperately to think of something else--anything else--we can do to get unstuck. Nothing comes to mind. "How the hell do we sleep then? Use the bathroom? Go to classes?"

"Figure that out yourself, Flying-Frisbees-for-brain. I didn't cast the spell, and it isn't my job to think for you."

Now  _ he's _ the one sounding childish.

I look at our hands, and think about Agatha.

Not that we do anything that entails privacy I'd have to postpone for this crisis... or, really, anything that a few days of inconvenience would even touch. (Sort of starts me on a path of wondering if we're okay, but that's shoved aside as fast as I can push it.)

Then Penny's reaction crosses my mind, but I rule that one away quickly, too. She'll probably just laugh at me (rightfully so).

I look at him, partially sulking while staring at the floor as the realization dawns on me.

It's Thursday. I'll give us to Sunday to figure it out before I slice us apart, and by Merlin, I'm not staying all handsie with Baz if it's the last thing I do.

I clear my throat, and check the time. "I, uh. I usually take my shower about now," I mumble, trying to swallow back my worry.

We look at each other, and he's practically fuming. "Fine," he snaps. "I'll sit on the toilet lid."

"And hold my towel?" I joke hopefully, smirking at him, but he yanks my arm up as he stands, making me tumble a bit. "Hey! Anathema!"

"Doesn't count if we're holding hands," he sneers, waiting for me to stand and brush myself off. "And I'm not sure if you noticed,  _ genius _ , but we can't exactly take off our shirts."

I look down, and blink before I look at my sleeve and gulp. He's right. "Spell ourselves clean, then?"

He throws an utterly disgusted look. "Rather cut myself out of my shirt, first."

"How, in the name of magick, would you put a new one on?"

He cocks a brow, lips pursing as he searches for an answer. I just grin triumphantly, knowing there really isn't one.

Then, silence.

"Fine," he snaps. "Bloody atrocious spells, they are, and I'm going to have to sponge bathe at least by Saturday, or else I'm throwing us both into the shower and hosing us off fully clothed."

I think of Baz taking a sponge bath--rubber ducky and all.

"Fine. What about sleeping?"

He looks at our beds, then our hands, then back. "If the answer you're looking for is to push them together, then you might as well keep looking."

"Well, do you have any better ideas?"

He stares at our beds, lips curled up into a snarl. "Drowning  _ myself _ ."

"Well, we're in an agreement, then," I nod, exhaling. "Push the beds together."

He tries to give our hands a good tug, and nothing happens.

"I hate you," he states, and tries again. No revelations there.

I shrug him off, moving to go start putting them together. "Hate you too, Baz."

Reluctantly, he moves along, scooting away our end table and pressing up the wooden bedposts. He finds a blanket to stuff the gap with while I attempt to shimmy into light sweats.

For the rest of the evening, it's painfully silent. Air stiff as a light post and just plain discomfitingly still. Even as I curl up, arm outstretched with as much feasible distance between Baz and I, I still feel the unsteady energy of the room.

It takes a long while for it to come, but I finally manage to pass out.

Although, waking up is probably the worst part of this incident so far because, of course, I have to piss. Badly.

Which, maybe, wouldn't be as much of an issue if Baz would just wake up. Instead, he's elected to turn his head away the moment I tried to tug him up.

" _ Please _ , Baz," I practically whine, yanking at his arm feebly as he shakes his head.

Y'know, after so many years of sharing a room, you'd think it'd be a different experience sleeping so close. He'd, I don't know,  _ warm up to me? _ But obviously that's impossible. He spent the whole night trying to sleep further and further from me, which just ended up giving me a wrist ache (can't imagine that it's that comfortable either, on his part).

It's only seemed to have made us impossibly worse. And now I'm gonna have to piss myself.

"I'll piss on you, I swear."

"Anathema will freeze your dick off," he grunts, voice buried under pillows.

"Don't think it works that way."

"Gonna risk it?"

I huff, and go for the dramatic shot, standing up on our joined beds. His arm lifts, but his body stays slumped.

"Oh joy, you've raised my hand," he monotones.

"Get up," I snip. "Or else."

"Didn't know you had a piss kink, Snow. Poor Wellbelove's got to deal with that too, huh?"

I flush right red and hot. "I don't, I've  _ never-- _ " I blubber, feeling myself burn redder by the second. "What, have you got a thing for humiliation? Lettin' yourself get pissed on?" It's such a shit comeback, and only makes me flush harder. (The thought of Baz in some sort of lead makes my mind do all sorts of things, but ultimately ends with me abruptly shutting the door on that track).

He turns over slowly, narrowing his eyes into slits below me as we glare off at one another.

Slowly, he sits up and, in a split second, yanks his arm aside and practically launches me onto the floor. I stumble, hearing him snort beside me before I give him a proper tug aside and he goes flying towards the floorboards below me.

He was right, last night. Anathema doesn't do shit when you're stuck together.

I watch as he pushes himself up, fixing his hair meticulously before turning his nose up to me and brushing himself off. I don't take even a second before dragging him off into the bathroom.

He turns away, foot tapping against the off-coloured creme tiles as I go at it. Once I'm done, he lifts his head and exhales. "What do we do about this?" His hand squeezes once around mine, then goes back to the usual limp hold.

"I mean, what  _ can _ we do?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Our options. Call in sick today and research  _ any means _ to unspell us, or we go about looking like absolute morons for the day."

I think briefly. It's Friday. I don't have a test 'til Tuesday, but it's also the third Friday of the month. Chicken á la King night. Not something I'm willfully missing.

I frown. "We still have to eat."

"Well, pity then. We'll just starve."

I gasp, mouth flying open as I stare at the back of his head. "You  _ wouldn't _ ."

"If it means us getting unstuck, I'd go all hunger strike," he huffs.

"Yeah well, I'm not doing that shit ever again," I snap. "We're going to breakfast."

"And let my minions see?" He whips around, eyebrows raised in all sorts of ways. "I have a reputation to uphold, Snow. And don't you have a girlfriend you wouldn't want to expose this to?"

"She'll understand, and so will everyone else, if we tell them."

He stares down at me, trying to burr holes through my skull and probably figure my brain out enough to hardwire me into not wanting to show us out in public, but it's a bit too late.

Because, as he likes to tell me, I'm real thick headed, and stubborn bastard with that.

With that, he turns on his heel and stares into the mirror, starting to fix his hair. The git.

"Please, Baz?" I think I've said 'please' more times today than I have in the past year. "I'll starve to death, and you'll have to deal with the corpse."

"Good, then I can saw  _ your _ hand off," he scoffs, face dropping from its bitter stiffness as he relents and lets me drag him back out into the room.

He notices me grabbing for my wand and stops me. "Let  _ me _ do the cleaning spell. I don't trust you to not accidentally spell my hair gone."

There isn't much of a comeback because he's right, I did accidentally spell my arm bald for a month, once. Still, regardless, he doesn't have to be a prick about it (just going for the low blows, today).

He mutters a spell, then slips his wand away before tugging me out behind him.

I get the lead halfway down the stairs and practically drag him along behind me as I weave my way through crowds of classmates. We get a few halfheartedly shocked faces, and a few snickers around us, but I ignore them as we burst into the hall for breakfast.

To my surprise, most people are too chicken shit to say anything to our faces--not with Baz looking like he could tear their heads off without a moment's notice. Even when I turn to Baz and forcefully say we're sitting with Penny, I notice that everyones avoiding eye contact. 

I mean--everyone except Penny. (And Agatha.)

"What--" Penn begins, but Baz cuts her off quickly with his classic grumble.

"Spelled together."

As if to prove so, he tries to tug away. I stumble a bit but our palms don't budge.

Penny ends up laughing, while Aggie's just got some weird look on her face.

Hell, she doesn't even say good morning. Not when we sit down, and not in the awkward silent few seconds that follow.

"So…" Penny starts, staring between us. Great. I'm not the only one who noticed that. "What spell was it? What happened?"

She clearly seems amused by this (probably because I can't really talk shit about Baz if he's right here, so she's free of my ranting. For now.)

"' _ Why can't we be friends?' _ " It flows from his lips smoothly, punctuated with the stab of his fork. I look down, and feel my cheeks start to burn as Penny laughs.

"Why can't we be--" she stops, forcing my attention back as she stares. "That means..."

"It means nothing," I mumble back, shoving the biggest mouthful of scrambled eggs and sausage into my mouth as I can fit.

"It means  _ something _ ," she says, voice dropping. Baz's eyebrow raises at her, as if to remind her that he's sitting right here, a seat's length away from me.

"It means," he begins, settling down the tea he grabbed (earl grey--and he takes a tooth-rotting amount of sugar, apparently), "that there's something we have to figure out. A common thought."

She scans him, unimpressed. " _ Yes _ ," she adds slowly, "but it has to be relationship changing, smart-arse. And we all know you hate each other."

"Apparently not!" I quip between forkfuls, trying to shove down the meal before we make our break for the library.

Penny gives me a look on the borderline between sympathy and motherly doting, which usually means close my mouth while I chew. So I do.

"Are you two skipping classes today?" She asks Baz directly, leaving me to chew alone as they both start going on about what books could help.

Which, somehow, leaves me to glance up at the most difficult person to talk to at the table right now. Somehow. This is shit. She's my girlfriend, we should be able to talk. (I mean, we don't usually talk, which is what makes this weird.)

"You're really stuck to him?" She asks, voice bordering between sympathy and disbelief. 

"Yeah," I mumble before swallowing. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head, raising a hand slowly up. If I didn't know any better, she'd be covering my face. "Well, sorry isn't exactly a change, is it?"

I shift, grabbing a napkin and wiping my lips. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'm trying to get this undone."

Her hand slowly lowers back down, and I can feel it all. The discomfort in her voice. The discomfort in her posture. I feel it trembling, down through the woodgrain of the centuries old table.

"What's wrong?"

She flicks her eyes over to Baz, then back to me. "I don't want to talk about it."

Oh. "Erm. Alright."

"Please don't take it personally," she says, voice dropping to an almost whisper. "It's just odd, that's all. I don't know what to say until  _ he's  _ gone." She's got a weird way of referring to him, and I can't quite pinpoint it down.

It isn't like when I talk about him or when Penny talks about him. It almost sounds like she doesn't want to curse the royal name in front of an heir.

"I get it. It's okay." I reach for her hand, but she yanks it back before quickly muttering an apology.

"Look, I have class soon," she sighs, piling her plates. "I'll just… let's talk when it's all over."

"I… okay. Talk to you later?"

She just nods and walks away, leaving the three of us.

It doesn't feel empty, but rather shifted. Like when you're playing at some shit park or playground. You're all trying to play some shit, and your odds seem better when the bigger, tougher kid wasn't here. But now? You're the runt of the group. No longer the back up--you're just sitting aside at the bottom.

I let her go, though. I finish my food, listen to Baz and Penny, and let her go in ways more than physical. Just push the thought aside until it's all over.

It sort of feels like the break we took a little while ago. It wasn't long; she said she got bored of being alone. I don't know if I missed her.

I don't know if I noticed much of a change in the first place.

Baz takes one glance at me the moment I finish my last scone, scoffing. "Can we leave?"

I don't bother wiping my face as I nod, noisily pushing myself from the table and swallowing the bite I've been working on. "Can you get class notes for me?" I ask Penny, watching her face drop into a bored expression.

"I'll  _ 'Double double' _ them," she says without the magic, waving me off before sipping at her remaining tea.

Baz gives my hand a good yank, and I fall back onto track. Setting away my plates, then following him to the library (hand in hand). (We must look like the worst romcom duo of the century.)

(Actually, sort of funny. Come see the Vampire and the Fuck Up! In theatres for a limited time!)

(Everything's the same, except I'm played by an orangutan.)

(Yes, there's no excuse for the orangutan. I just want to see Baz try to interact with an orangutan.) (He'd probably treat that thing better than he treats me…)

"Snow!" Baz says, and it sounds like the tenth time.

Which, in combination with our new location, means I'd zoned out.

And now Baz is stuffing books into my spare arm.

"I… can't we just take them out?"

He shushes me, glaring down. "Keep quiet, will you?"

I blink, frowning as he slips another onto the sizable stack I've got already. He's got his own pile, carrying them as if he owns them while starting to strut out.

I try to sneak looks around without showing the distress I've got building (because for all the things I wouldn't want to get scolded over, stealing books is near the top of that list). It's relatively tame--nobody really comes in here this early, unless they took a study class, and  _ nobody _ takes a study class. Not even Penny.

Baz just strolls down the aisles, hand locked on mine with head high and shifting his arms further towards his body.

Nobody says a word. Well, not after Baz takes out his wand and states " **_Nothing to see here_ ** ."

And, with that, we managed to steal half the Library's stack of Uncommon Spells Literature.

Common rebel in uniform, he is.

We're silent all up to the room. And through our research, too (aside from the occasional frustrated groan and slamming of book pages).

We sit side-by-side at the foot of our beds. The rug is scratchy against my ankles, but I don't really care. It's not as much of a thought that's nudging at my mind as compared to Baz's hand wrapped around mine.

It sits calmly, with the occasional twitch and shift.

It's strange in such an oddly not-terrible way. Rather, it presents an odd comfort and a peace of mind.

I don't have to wonder where Baz is, or what he's thinking (or plotting), because it's right here. All of the answers are in front of us.

"I don't hate sitting here with you," I say, half hoping it's the revelation.

His head lifts, a strand falling into his face as he frowns. "What do you want, Snow?" He snips.

"I just… do you like it too?"

"I don't know why you--"

"Just answer. It could be the  _ thing _ ."

His jaw clenches, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows back what was probably an insult.

It takes him a moment, head dropping back to the page before he says it. "No. I don't hate sitting here with you, too."

It sounds more sincere than his biting remark last night (that he  _ doesn't _ hate me), but to our mutual disappointment, our hands don't budge at the pull.

"Merlin and Morgana, what does this spell need? A marriage certificate?" I huff, rubbing my index and thumb over my eyes.

For once, I don't hear a comment from Baz. Though, knowing him, he's probably making a face that means he want to punch me right now.

Can't blame him. I sort of want to punch me, too (this spell is dragging all of us through the seven levels of hell). If only we could just snap apart, then everything would be okay.

I'd be back with just Agatha and Penny, and he'd go back to avoiding me. The usual plan.

Instead, we're stuck here. Hand-in-hand. And I'm just waiting for lunch.

Which comes and goes with a brief trip downstairs and an update to Penny that nothing has been found. She says she'll help us after dinner, to which Baz replies that she can't, we're in our room.

She just says that she knows.

And to that, he and I go back to our studies. Mostly.

A little after 1, I start yawning. Baz, at first, tells me to shut up (until it gets to be too much).

Which is why I'm waking up now to a pale, freezing hand jostling my shoulder and telling me to get up.

I blink slowly, then squint my eyes back until they're closed. "Merlin, what time is it?" I grumble.

We'd migrated up to the bed, which I must've passed out on, book still in hand.

"Nearly dinner time," Baz says, plucking the book right from my grip. "And right now, I'd rather deal with a fed Snow than a bitter-yet-rested Snow."

He's got a very fair point.

I sit up, shifting and yawning before getting a good look at him.

He looks pale. I mean, paler than usual. Pale pale. Painfully, sickly pale.

"You alright, mate?"

He turns to look at me, an automatic scowl on his face. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Y'look sick…"

I feel his bed shift, and hear it creak with his movement, yet it still takes him another minute of his own silence to answer.

"I'm just hungry."

Go figure. He didn't eat a real breakfast or lunch (although, the spare sandwich he brought up is now gone, and I don't remember eating it).

I glance around for it to double check and yep. No sandwich to be seen.

"Alright…" It doesn't feel convincing. I've never seen anyone look that shit after skipping just two meals. "Let's go, then."

Despite being the one to say it, I take the longest with my shoes, ultimately giving up and sliding them on with the laces tucked into the sides (again).

(Never thought about how difficult life could be with one arm tied to my enemy.)

At dinner, Penny and I chat as Baz turn slightly away, eating mostly facing the wall. I don't really question it--maybe it's some weird posh schooling thing to hide when you eat. I dunno. I just know to try to listen to Penn as she goes over the day's classes, no matter how boring they feel.

He wraps up relatively quickly, and doesn't let me go back for seconds (I don't feel like fighting--it's too tiring to protest someone you're stuck to). And, when we go, Penny comes to follow. She spits off to the Cloisters, telling us she'll meet us up at our room. Surely enough, she does (with even more books).

For the next few hours, it's just us. Less silent than before, but their collective brains are more than enough to not need my imput, so I curl my legs to my chest and page through books until they need to ask me questions again.

It takes a good hour or two after the sun sinks before Penny gets up to go, sighing and saying something to Baz about some other book she'll grab tomorrow before waving herself off.

He stares at the door, and I feel the need to get defensive. "Don't even try--she has a boyfriend."

His head snaps over to me, lip curling up as his hand squeezes my knuckles. "I know about the American, Snow. And I'm not interested in Bunce."

I try to wiggle my eyebrows, and fail. "Right. Awfully shit at hiding your feelings."

He just glowers at me until I give him an innocent shrug.

"Well, what was that look, then?"

He snorts. "I appreciate intellectual stimulation, Snow. I never quite get it in my present company."

It takes me a second to get that one. "Hey! I'm not that dumb."

He almost looks amused before he stands quickly, then nearly stumbles. I shock, reaching out to steady him.

"Shit, Baz, are you feeling alright?"

He shakes his head, then stops, glancing at me. "I'm fine," he snaps. "We should be getting to bed."

I shift, then look around. "Yeah." Something's missing.

He starts brushing off the books, and it hits me. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"What?"

I shrug. "You always disappear by now," I say slowly. "You didn't last night."

He goes silent, still settling aside the books as I stare.

"Baz, I know what you do--"

"Shut it, Snow. I'm fine." It's through clenched teeth.

"You look sick--"

"I'm. Fine."

"How the hell are we going to research if you look a nail in the coffin away from your deathbed?"

His eyes hover onto me, staring in a piercing, sharp grey.

"I… no."

"No?"

"No. We're not doing this."

" _ Baz _ ."

" _ I'm _ not doing this."

"C'mon," I say, shifting to the edge of the bed. "Maybe… maybe it'll change something. What if it does something?"

He looks at me, words dancing in his mouth and threatening to spill out as he shakes his head.

"I know what it is, Baz. I know what happens," I urge. "We both know I know, and you can't bloody faint on me. Not when we have  _ this _ to figure out."

He stares down at his feet, contemplating before nodding just once.

It feels like a blink before we're walking across the lawn and slipping into the Chapel doors.

I can't feel my fingers. I can't feel my toes. It's both too cold and too otherworldly to acknowledge this shift. This action.

He doesn't threaten me. Not until we're past the Catacombs entrance and guided only by the fire in his spare palm that he speaks. "If you dare breathe about this to a  _ soul _ \--"

"I won't," I say quickly. "I swear, I promise. It's like nothing happened."

He turns his head, looking me up and down before briefly nodding and staring ahead. "Like nothing happened," he repeats, letting it echo into these empty, mazed corridors.

He knows these halls. It's in his step, the turn of his head and the relaxed tug of his arm. He breathes like he's home. Like he's welcomed down here.

It feels like a few minutes before we're turning into a room, lined with similar, tiny skulls and shriveled rats scattered about as other live ones scamper around their corpses.

"I'm going to cut the light," he warns, shocking me with the softness in his voice. "I… don't want you to see."

"What's wrong with seeing?"

He looks almost pained, hand still tightly on mine (unneededly tight). First, he gives me a headshake, then an answer. "Trust me on this, Snow. It's bad enough to hear it."

I swallow, worry starting to prickle under my skin as I reach to my neck and drag out the cross so it's visible. I see him wince, and I don't pretend I'd missed it. "Fine."

He gives me a long, darkened look before going to drop his light.

The room dips into utter darkness, and in seconds, I feel his arm pull mine aside. I hear a squeak, then another, and a third before quick, thumping cracks echo the room. Then silence.

Rustling. Soft, dusty rustling. Feet against ground, shuffling. Moving. The sound of muffled sucking. The tug of Baz's hand--an unsure squeeze then tiny thumps of bodies against the floor. And, when I think he's about to conjure a light back up, he goes through it again.

I hate that I wince the second round of snaps, because Baz feels it too. His hand goes stiff, then a single finger trails up to my wrist and rubs it. It's such a strange comfort, but I take it.

I breathe in the stale air, and I take his unsure offer, because it's done moments after he drops this next batch.

I hear his hand wipe his face before the flame is conjured back up.

He's not far from me now. Close enough that I tilt my chin just a bit to look at him.

His lips look flushed, and his skin seems, well, normal. For him.

Typical grey.

"I'm sorry," he says after a few eerily silent seconds, and for once, it sounds sincere. "I don't usually--since I skipped last night--"

I stop him by grabbing his other hand.

To my relief, we can let go of each other with that one. "It's fine," I whisper. "You're, uh. You're okay, right?"

He eyes up my cross, swallowing. "Yes," he whispers.

"Okay. Good. Yeah. Good." I shift, and do my best not to look at the new shriveled rats. "Is that, um. Are they sanitary?"

He snorts, and it makes me smile. At least the moment's breaking. "I don't know, there isn't an exact food label on a grave rat, Snow."

"I know, I know. Just don't think you want some rat disease."

His eyebrow lifts as he thankfully starts leading us out. "I've been doing that for years. If a rat disease would get me, it would've taken over by now."

I trail closely after, studying the walls in the passing light. His hand just feels a bit warmer, and almost pink at his cuticles.

"Guess so."

We're silent once we break back out into the Chapel space, and all the way up in the room. He spells us clean while I'm toeing off my shoes and quickly changing into sweats. I unbutton my tee, feeling awfully too hot in this room.

Baz had a point. I should just cut this shirt off.

He takes a notice to my fussing, and silently opens the window before slipping into bed.

I look up at it, staring at the peeling paint of the frame before looking at him.

He's already trying to turn away, not asleep but deep in avoidance.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"For what?"

"Trusting me." My hand curls around his. "I… after all that shit, I don't deserve that trust."

He huffs, shifting away. "Don't mention it. Literally. To anyone."

I half smile, and turn to click off the bedside lamp.

It'd be nice to sleep after this. A good end to the start of progress.

It'd be great if I could just sleep. Close my eyes. Pass out.

But I can't.

I turn to him, looking over his figure, and listen to his breathing. Too unsteady. Not asleep. Shit.

There is one major downfall, above all else, to being stuck to Baz. Above all else, give it up to my restless mind and routined body to be the real arsehole in this equation.

See, what Baz should never know is that when he slips off, I give myself a good wank to pass out, then I'm done. Down for the night. No worries, no nothing.

But I'm two nights out. And a little antsy. And, of course, I can't bloody sleep.

Not after that nap earlier.

And, with the feeling of it, I don't know if I can sleep without a go.

I try, though. I try and try and try. I try to count sheep, I try to go backwards from 100, then 200, then 300. Nothing.

And it sounds like he's not really asleep either.

I glance at him, swallowing my pride. He agreed that tonight basically didn't happen. Might as well get some fair end of that bargain too.

"Hey," I whisper. "Hey Baz."

"Go to sleep," he grumbles.

"I-I can't."

"Try harder."

"No, I…" I swallow hard. This is so fucking stupid. I should stop now. I don't even know where this idea came from, "Baz, I can't."

He turns to me at probably the most inopportune time, because I haven't shifted my hips and im pretty visibly half mast under these fucking sheets.

His eyes go wide, and then unexpectedly stay as so. I don't give him the moment to talk.

"Okay, if nothing happened tonight, then  _ nothing _ happened tonight, but I'm. Ah. Erm. Fuck. You see--"

"Do you have a wank when I disappear?" There's that amusement again. That's it. Pile on the bullying.

"Yeah, well. Yeah. Yes." My cheeks damn me into a pinker and pinker shade. "That's… you know how I'm asleep when you..? Yeah."

He just stares down at my crotch, blinking slowly. "And..?" It sounds forceful.

"I just--fuck. Nevermind."

"Did you need a  _ wank _ , Snow?"

I swallow, then nod.

I think he's blushing? I really can't tell. I can barely see shit in the dark, but he's definitely a different shade.

I think he's stunned out of talking (honestly, I would be too. This is utterly pathetic and borderline harassment, I think). If I could, I'd lock myself in the bathroom now (with a cold shower) and try to forget everything.

Baz, though, finally gives an answer that I'm half sure I hallucinate. "Go at it, then."

"I--what?" I sputter.

He shifts, then turns his head up to the ceiling. The moonlight perfectly outlines the sharp turns of his face. "We agreed. Tonight didn't happen," he hisses through clenched teeth. "So… go at it."

"That's… pretty unsexy."

"Thanks," he grumbles. 

I shift, swallowing hard. "If you wanna turn away, that's--" He cuts me off by sharply flopping onto his side away from me.

I still feel his hand against mine--tight and present.

I can't help but look down and our joined skin as I reach my other hand under the blankets and past my waistbands, brushing my hand along the base.

Biting my lip, I hold back everything. Hold back a sound, a breath. It makes me nearly seem like I have an autoerotic asphyxiation thing, but I just close my eyes and will away the thought.

I pull my hand up, giving it a proper lick so it isn't just my dry palm, and go at it.

Tonight, right now, I can't think about anything but Baz's hand against mine. The tight curl of his fingers, the strangled closeness of him. It washes into my bloodstream like the guilt hitting the flush in my cheeks. But my cock is unwavering--hard in my palm and twitching at my touch.

I bite harder, trying to keep quiet.

Baz shifts, and I stop immediately. This is wrong. So fucking wrong.

He didn't have to agree. He probably felt pressured and--

I hear the rustling of his bedside, the shifting pull in his hand, before he settles back and the sound of a bottle snapping open fills the air.  _ Oh. _ He's going at it too.

I try to sneak a peek, cheeks beet red as he dexterously squeezes a bit into his palm before reaching down, lying on his back and pushing up into his hand.

The way my dick reacts makes me freeze on the spot.

He rolls his hips up, teeth pulling his bottom lip in as his hand undeniably squeezes mine. I try to hold back my gasp, shamelessly watching him go.

I can't, thought. It spills out, catching him off guard and startling him enough to pull his hand out.

"No!" I say quickly, then shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. Fucking hell, I  _ need _ to forget tonight. "I-I meant, you can… I was just…"

I feel his heavy eyes on me and listen to the steadily increasing breathes he's taking before he settles, laying back down properly.

My head lolls, facing him as my eyes peer open.

He stares at me, across ruffles sheets with an undeniable fresh pinkness in his cheeks as he bites back down onto his lip and reaches into his pants, stroking slowly.

I follow in suit, studying his meticulous movements of slow tugging, slowly pushing up palm and riding a hip rotation. This time, I don't hold back the moan, grinding gracelessly into my own palm.

It feels good, though. So fucking good.

It's rough and unsteady, fingers trembling as I follow Baz's rhythm, eyes trailing over his moving arm and rolling hips before I flicker back up to his eyes, and barely hold myself together.

He's watching me, head aside and lips parted as I rock and grind, panting low and hard into the air between us.

I nearly keep myself going, cock throbbing in my palm as I helplessly grind up, going and going until he squeezes my hand once and it's enough to tip me over, spilling out into my hand and boxers. I gasp, I writhe, and then slump back into the mattress with an unceremonious sigh.

I glance over to see him starting to come down from the same--he finished nearly in time with me, but he still seems in the moment. Dazed. Eyes shut and head back on the pillow with his face tipped up towards the ceiling, jaw hanging as he gasps softly for air.

Something in my gut twists, making me try to push everything away. Mentally shut back. Forget his face. Ignore that feeling. Don't overwork myself on  _ Baz _ of all people…

He shifts again, grabbing his wand and uttering a clean up spell onto both of us.

I can't even muster a thank you. Instead, I just squeeze his hand and pass out.

And when the sun wakes me up the next morning, Baz is on his stomach, shuffled to the opposite side of his bed.

Like nothing ever happened.

I swallow back what feels like stale disappointment, head resting against my pillow as his hand lies limply against mine, palms still stuck together. His fingertips are cold this morning, as I imagine they usually are whenever he's not just fed.

My cheeks prickle back to a light pink, choking down the thought. The sound of the squeaks, and their bodies slumping back to the ground.

If I didn't know any better, I'd call him a monster. Spit it right into his face, and tear our hands apart if it would mean splitting skin from muscle.

But I saw him. I saw his face--the softness in his lips and eyes as he told me he didn't want me to see. Him apologizing, for once, for doing something he didn't want me to share.

I feel his cold fingertips, and swallow back the guilt of our later evening.

Now  _ that _ I don't want to think about.

I don't like the ever-present image of him, slack jawed and blissed out. And worst of all, it isn't that I didn't  _ like _ it. I just don't like that I can't stop thinking about it.

I don't like that he's so far away, touching me so delicately. Like he's almost not there.

I shift to push myself up, and his grip tightens, face burrowing deeper into his pillow as he groans. "Wake me up to piss again and I end you, Snow," he grumbles. It doesn't have his usual bite, and I chalk it up to him still being half asleep (no affection from the evening before).

(Not that we even talked during it.)

(All we did was hold hands, and squeezed them. That's all. It isn't really gay, is it? Holding your roommate's hand while you have a wank?)

(It's not gay when you  _ have _ to do it.)

(Maybe that end part was a little gay. But just a bit.)

(Oh fuck, what do I tell Agatha?)

I bite my lip. I do have to pee, but not as badly as yesterday morning. I elect to ignore it, sitting up and getting a good look at him.

The open curtains fall onto his exposed back as the spring breeze drifts the smell of fresh grass and silt of the moat into our room. The fabric of his shirt is pushed up, exposing his lower back and the little dimples above his waistband. I can't help but think of those very hips rocking and--

"What are we doing today?" I speak before I can even let myself think more, voice involuntarily going up a note as he shifts against the sheets.

"Depends on whether or not you let me sleep."

"If I don't?"

"Then you're getting bludgeoned to death so I can fulfill the latter."

I frown. So last night really  _ didn't  _ happen. "Fine," I mumble, sinking back into bed. I turn my back to him and on my side so our arms stretch out awkwardly between us.

Shockingly, he doesn't say a word of protest.

He even falls back into a light sleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.

Which is always a recipe for disaster because, if I'm being honest, my brain sort of feels like a rattle sometimes. A few unwanted ideas shaking about before they settle back in. It's safe to say that I get stuck trying to figure out what to do about the hand-shit, because that's the easiest one to think about without having to figure out 20 other things in the process.

So, I start trying to go through it.

Maybe. Maybe he doesn't want to fight.

He's been acting odd this year, and sort of the year before, too. After that voice box thing that I'd rather aggressively repress, he'd stopped all the "I'm gonna kill you" things and now? He's just mean. Bitter.

Sort of like something switched off.

And maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to fight.

I turn myself over, staring at the back of his head.

I don't think I want to fight him either.

I… really don't want to kill him. I usually just kill things that are trying to have a go at me, and usually, it's not someone I've known for a while. (Well, except in 3rd Year when that new professor turned out to be a Scaletooth Changeling and just wanted my head. That was different.)

I don't know if I can kill him.

I can't look at him again without seeing him in the soft flickering flames of the Catacombs.

I can't see him as a monster, and I don't fight anything that isn't.

I swallow, listening to his breathing. It's soft, and his back moves fluidly along with it.

I swallow back my thoughts, and focus on this. On him moving, on him living.

I'll never hurt him, because he's alive. He's a living boy, and not a monster. Not after my head.

"Baz," I whisper. He groans. "Baz, wake up?"

"Snow, I told you--" he begins in a croak.

"No, I need to say this," I start. "It might be it. The change."

His head turns over, eyes shut as his dark lashes fan out over his cheeks. "Fine. What is it, Snow?"

I watch him--watch his lips, watch his hair. "I don't want to fight you. Not now, not  _ then. _ " I bite my lip. "Especially not then. I don't want to hurt you."

His eyes open slowly, blinking clear a few times before he stares up at me, face unreadable.

I feel myself holding my breath, counting the seconds and expecting refusal until he says it. "I don't want to hurt you."

I exhale, trying hard not to think of the implications, then watch our hands. We both go to pull away, his hand weaker than mine, but they won't budge.

I swallow. What the hell could it be? 

"This is useless," he mumbles, turning back away.

"Are you lying when you say these things?" It comes out more hurt than accusatory.

He doesn't turn back. In fact, he doesn't move. "Of course not."

"Then why aren't the things we're saying working? You have to be."

"You think I  _ like _ being stuck to you, Snow?" There it is. The bitter snap. "I want out as much as you do."

"Do you? Do you really? Then tell me," I start, really feeling it bubble. "Tell me why it won't give, because I'm sure as hell out of ideas of things to say to you."

He snorts. Just plain snorts, then pushes himself up onto his knees. He settles back, sitting down as his bed head catches the bands of morning light. "When did Bunce say she'd be back to look through the books with us?" He mumbles, running his spare hand back through his hair to press it down.

I wish he didn't do that. It suits him better all messed up.

"10." I glance at my digital alarm clock. It's just past 8 now. "What else is there to research at this point?"

"Well," he starts pointedly. "Spells like this usually have an expiration time. Just in case the caster didn't get the right results, yada yada, so on. So we just have to figure out this one's."

"How long could it take?"

"Could be today. Could be tomorrow. Could be next week." He looks out onto the yard, exhaling. "Nothing in the books said it for certain, so we have to check the library archive for the spell itself."

"Are we  _ stealing _ the archive?"

His brow raises, and the most mischievous smirk I've ever seen on Baz's face grows before my very eyes. "Test of my skill."

" _ Baazzz… _ "

"Oh ye of little faith." The bridge of his nose wrinkles up. "Would you rather we  _ hold hands _ in the library and read together? What would your girlfriend say?"

"Dunno if she's really my girlfriend."

He tries to not look surprised, but it's too clear. "Beg your pardon?"

"She said she doesn't want to talk to me 'til this is over. I think we're on a break."

"It isn't a break unless someone says it's a break, Snow."

"Well,  _ I _ say it's a break."

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, well. Your damaged relationship is none of my worries."

I bite back a response. Sure it isn't. Not when he flirted with her a few weeks ago.

(Although, now, I don't even know if he was. It feels off now. Like it was an empty gesture.)

"Well you said it like you wanted proof," I challenge.

He freezes, lips pursed for a silent moment.

I let myself continue. "I'll prove it then. Prove it's a break."

"Why are you--never mind," he snips before abruptly getting up. "Get on your feet. I need to use the lavatory."

I give him a grunt and a solid complaint, but follow anyway, sitting on the countertop and kicking my legs as we face opposite directions wordlessly.

I let him do his morning roundabout, spelling us (somewhat) clean before he turns to me. "Come on. We're sneaking down."

"Where?"

"Kitchen. I have a key to Pritchard's personal leftover fridge."

I blink, and already feel myself salivating. It's like he just told me he has the bloody Holy Grail. "How the hell did you--"

"Pitches never tell secrets." He almost gives me a smile, but it feels odd on his face. Unexpected. Not fully familiar.

I trust him regardless, because this is  _ food _ we're talking about (Merlin, it'd be too easy to poison me). I'm practically flying after him, stuffing my shoes on and changing into acceptable trousers before we sneak down into the kitchen.

He grabs us some plates, and we heat them up in silence, watching the spinning disk of the microwave as I wait, then, finally, dig in.

He eats this time, hand over his mouth. I try to figure it out, but it's too late. He catches me, then turns his head away.

"Why do you do--"

"Fangs." His voice is snippy and short, dragging out painfully as he chews. His mouth sounds stuffed, in more ways than just food, and I don't give a shit about being proper--I just want to see 'em.

"Can I..?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Do I need a reason? Absolutely not."

" _ Please? _ "

He turns to me, glaring with as much venom as he can muster as he chews and swallows. It takes him a second to open up, and when he does, he keeps the hand hesitantly close.

"Shit," I breathe, leaning closer. He immediately goes to hide, but I cower back. " _ Shit _ . Sorry. Can I look closer?"

He eyes me up, then muddily says "Cross".

I blink, thinking it over before dragging my cross on top of my shirt.

He's not scared of me. He's scared of himself.

I gulp, then lean back in.

They're long, and well kept (not surprised). They're razor sharp too--enough to, well, do the job. "They're brilliant," I whisper, settling back. "Absolutely bloody wicked."

His mouth snaps shut, head turning back silently as he goes back to eating. I take it as a fair signal to shut up, finishing my plate before he's half done.

The rest of the afternoon is mundane. We head to the library, meet Penny, all that. Nothing pops out to us, and once dinner strikes, we're still clueless on answers and a bit dumbstruck for ideas, so we collectively walk down, comfortably silent.

For the first time today, we actually make it to a proper meal, so I manage to carry two full plates on one arm for myself. Baz tries to turn a blind eye, but Penny just gives me her usual "You're definitely going to regret that" look. 

While we sit and eat away, I notice that Agatha's halfway across the room, sitting alone with her smuggled Kindle. It feels a bit strange to have her distance, but still  _ definitely _ the norm for those ruddy little breaks. 

When Baz catches me looking, he gives a clear little noise (as if I've forgotten).

It's strangely okay to have Baz sitting right here, and impossibly closer than the meals before. His leg even bumps mine, sending a (very confusing) tingle around where it hit.

"Should someone tell Aggie she wasn't banished from the table?" I say between bites, interrupting Baz and Penny's back and forth conversation over the possible time limits of the spell. It's Baz who turns to me first, going for his usual salt in the wound.

"Have I replaced your girlfriend, Snow?"

I sputter on my bite, nearly choking as I look up to meet whatever smug face he's probably wearing. Instead, he's turned away, and Penny's just staring between us.

"Oh… kay…" she says awkwardly. "Well, she did say to me that she didn't want to be around  _ this _ ?"

_This?_ Is she homophobic? (Not that we're doing anything but holding hands. And wanking together, apparently. Which never happened.)

(And it isn't like I'm gay, or anything.)

(Not sure on that one, actually.)

(Not the time for this.)

"This?"

"Your feuding," she emphasizes. "You know she doesn't love all the shit you manage to get yourself into."

Phew, not homophobic. "So it  _ is _ a break then?"

Baz's foot lands right on mine. Painfully.

I hiss, but don't do much beyond glaring at him.

"Why would I know the answer?" Penny shrugs, taking a bite of chicken. "She's your girlfriend, not mine."

Staring across, she's just starting to pack up and clean out. Fuck.

"Fine," I grumble, standing and accidentally yanking Baz's arm aside in the process. He snaps at me, but I apologize faster than I think I've ever apologized to him before.

It takes a minute, but I finally flag her down and get her to walk over.

It's sort of awkward (talk about exhibitionism--I ride the lifetime high of embarrassment from existence), watching her go about cleaning up before coming to stand in front of me. "What is it, Simon?"

I catch Penny peering up at us, but Baz stays seated, arm stretched out behind us to give me a fair distance.

"I just…" I mumble, voice dropping. "I don't know. Why are you over there?"

"Space, Simon."

"Why?"

She looks over me, and I feel my cheeks flush. Admittedly, I'm terrible at this relationship shit. Communication? Nope. Understanding? Nada. I'm trying, though.

Sort of.

"Do I have to say it here?" She asks, shifting from foot to foot.

"Well, we won't have privacy no matter where we are."

She sighs, tucking one of those long, blonde strands behind her ear. "I just want things to be normal," she starts, voice dropping down to a whisper. "This? This isn't normal. And I don't want  _ us _ if  _ we're  _ not normal."

"So…"

"So it's a break, Simon. I'm tired. This is tiring. I like you, but…"

Sometimes, there are moments in life where you feel something you thought you had, something you were sure of, and it breaks. High score on a game, a good pocketing at a shop. You're so bloody confident as to where you're heading, then it ends. Quickly, and stings when you weren't ready for the pain.

"Yeah," I say, hands suddenly feeling numb. I don't smell the smoke--it isn't sticky in here. Instead, I feel distanced. Behind a screen. "No, yeah, I get it. It's… yeah."

Her hand briefly brushes down my arm, then catches my wrist, but leaves before she touches my hand. "I mean it. Maybe it'll be normal again. Then we're good."

Shit.  _ Shit _ .

There's that whole saying about not asking questions that you don't want answered. Maybe this was one of them.

Because I got it--got my answer.

I feel it sting as she walks off, leaving me feeling oddly numbed. The only thing that shakes me back is the soft tug of Baz's hand, closing tighter around me.

"That… was…" I hear Penny say, both of them watching me step back over the bench and plopping myself down. For once, I push away the food still on my plates away.

"I just want to go," I say, looking down. "Can we…?"

Baz nods, moving faster than time feels to clear up the space and drag me out behind him, Penny trailing and holding my other arm. She follows us to the door of the Mummer's house, talking to Baz as I lean against the stone. This is the weirdest fucking long weekend of my life, and I've spent weekends killing hoards of creatures.

But this? This takes the fucking cake.

Baz and Penny agree to research again tomorrow afternoon, leaving Baz and I here next to the door, watching Penny wander off to the Cloisters. 

As Baz reaches for the door, I stop him with a good squeeze.

"Are you hungry?"

He turns to me, cocking a brow. The sun looks soft around him. He's even melting into the yellows. "We just got back from dinner, Snow."

"No, I'd meant…"

He stops, then tips his nose up. "I, ah, usually wait until after dark."

"Oh, of course. You dramatic bastard."

Just when I think he's going to throw an insult, he just smirks, pulling the door open. "After you," he says cooly.

I grin, stepping forward before turning to walk into the building. "I like that," I hum as I push past, starting up the stairs.

"What?"

"I like you not being a dick."

He's silent for a few beats before it hits. "I enjoy the moments when I'm kinder," he says under his breath, before we give a collective tug to our joined hands. Still, no give.

The walk back up to the top after that one try feels like a walk of shame. A cruel, awkward walk of shame.

We don't even have much we can do in the room. He grabs books to study, and I sit on my bed, staring at the covers and feeling frustrated that I can't even work with my sword.

"Do you mean what you're saying?"

His hear lifts, blinking slowly towards me. "We've been over this."

"I know, I know," I shrug, looking aside. "But still."

I watch as he slowly closes the book, pushing it aside. "I want out of this as much as you do."

I swallow, staring at him. "Then why isn't it working?"

His lips twitch, then twist down. "Haven't the faintest."

"It's something, though. Something's  _ supposed _ to click. Something's  _ supposed _ to make sense."

He stares at me, stone cold and unmoving, and it sinks into my skin deeper than it should.

Maybe it's the Agatha thing. Maybe it's the not showering in days thing.

Maybe it's just that I'm tired of no resolve.

"What was last night, then?" I try.

He doesn't even flinch, blinking flatly. "Snow--" he warns.

"No. Fuck. Just… what  _ was _ last night?"

"Something we agreed to not talk about."

"Well, fuck that. I'm fucking tired, and I just want this," I gesture down, "dealt with."

We're silent for a long moment, the air slightly smoky from my building magic. His gaze is sturdy through the cloud--unmoving.

"Baz…" I start, then stop, then rework it. "I liked that."

"Liked…"

"You know what."

His lips draw straight, jaw setting. "Drop it," he snarls.

I shake my head. "Nope."

He scoffs. "What are you trying to get out of me? That I  _ liked _ last night?" His hand waves over me, voice going up with the flair of dramatics.

"Well  _ I _ did," I snap, eyes wide as I stare at him and swear, despite the room feeling increasingly cloudy, the space around us feels terribly static.

Neither of us move.

Not until his hand tries to pull away, and to our joined horror, it doesn't move.

"You  _ bastard _ ," I whisper. "You--I'd just--"

"I'm not lying," he hisses. "Don't you dare even  _ try _ to call me a liar."

"Then prove it! Prove you're not bullshitting all these--"

His lips crash into mine, and maybe for the first time in Baz's life, he's done something utterly gracelessly.

It's terribly awkward at first. I'm half knocked back, and he's forcefully scrunching his lips in a weird press to mine. I'm not quite ready for it, and countless questions flit through my mind before it finally shuts up and tells me to do  _ something _ .

And, apparently, that something is to snog him back.

It's strange, because he's cold. Really, really bloody cold.

Like his hand is--like his hand was before he fed, and all of a sudden, I'm feeling guilty again.

I don't have long to mull over it, though, because the moment I really kiss him back, he's scrambling onto my lap like nothing else matters.

I curiously try to pry our hands apart, and when it doesn't budge, something feels empty. Cold. Distanced from what weren't doing--the snogging feels unfulfilling, and I can't choke back the idea that this is some elaborate lie that Baz cooked up.

I shake my head from his, trying to pull away. "Baz," I breathe. He chases me back, and I dazily try to fall back more. "Baz, I--"

"I love you," he whispers, holding my jaw as he hovers over me and presses hard, quick kisses over my cheeks. "There? That enough for your bloody spell?"

For once, I'm the one stuck frozen as my heart thunders in my chest.

"Do you?" I whisper shakily. Our hands aren't budging.

"You have to say it too," he speaks into my skin, other hand threading into my hair.

I exhale slowly, free hand tugging him closer.

This is good. Really fucking good.

Fucking hell it's what I wanted him to do last night. It's all I've wanted since I'd watched his head tip, since I knew how  _ human _ he is, how  _ soft _ he is--

I have to say it. If I say it, we're fucked, but we're free.

"I love you too," I breathe out, his hair splayed out on top of my face and getting stuck around my lips as I speak.

We both stop, panting at a similar beat before we move, in unison, to try to pry our hands away.

Slowly, his hand slips away from mine, exposing my palm to the stuffy air of our bedroom.

I snap my lips shut, not having felt them open as I catch a breath and shift to really look at Baz.

He seems dazed. Pale. Freshly shocked and a bit lopsided, but he's still on top of me and making my head spin as he tries to figure out what happened.

But, given not thinking is my usual way to go, I just slap my now open hand down onto his arse and cup it nicely.

He groans, face dropping down into the bed behind us as he  _ ruts _ . Shamelessly and openly ruts down onto my thigh. It's just once, but it's enough to drive me insane.

"Fuck," I pant, giving his bum a proper squeeze. "Oh  _ fuck _ \--don't stop--"

He shuts me up with a kiss, ripping my shirt open. He grabs my cross, and I feel his heavy flinch as he yanks it down and throws it aside.

Fuck, that shouldn't be hot (and borderline concerning).

(Maybe he'll just kill me now that I've admitted--shit. No. Fuck. He actually fucking loves me. Merlin,  _ Baz loves me _ .)

(And I love Baz.)

(I love Baz.)

He shuts my train of thought with another blinding grind onto my thigh, his own leg teasingly rubbing against my trousers as I grow increasingly hard.

And for the second that I think that maybe,  _ maybe _ I can hold myself together long enough for this moment to last, he grinds again and I fucking groan up into his mouth, urging his hips down before we shift, his crotch over mine, and rutting openly down.

"Baz--" it comes out hopelessly strangled, hand moving to his shoulder and squeezing as he rocks. The drop of his face to my neck feels both too much and not enough.

I tilt my head back, letting him kiss about as we find a rhythm and--

"Can I-- _ fuck _ \--can I touch you?" He whimpers, nose digging into his skin as we grind together. I nod, feeling overly eager and near the brink of just coming in my trousers on the spot, but he does the duty of undoing my fly and pulling me out enough to wrap his freezing fingers around my cock.

It jolts me at first, like ice cubes on burning skin, then it makes me laugh, borderline delirious as I thrust up into his hand.

"Fuck," I whimper, "oh  _ fuck _ , can I--"

He nods before I finish, letting my trembling hands struggle with his button for a moment before I eagerly stroke him through his pants, then push his elastic away and slip inside to go at it.

Surprisingly, his cock is nearly room temperature, which might be a vampire thing (something to figure out while I'm not working like a madman, trying desperately to see that glorious face he makes again).

It takes a few strokes for each of us, him spilling out before me as our foreheads rest on one another. We press further into each other's hand, sputtering out incoherent groans before collapsing down to the bed. 

We take a while, collecting our breath and our thoughts from the shock of the moment while riding the ridiculous high of something I've been trying not to think about nonstop for the past day.

I'm expecting Baz's first words after we calm ourselves down to be something snippy. Something telling me it's all been in my head, and he won here, or something.

Instead, he lazily lifts his head, smiling that smirk that I've newly began to love before whispering "We need a bloody shower."


End file.
